


The things I would do

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Season 8 reaction ficlets [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Spoilers for episode 8.04, after the fade to black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: “I think I understand now,” she whispers. “The things I would do for you.”**After the camera cuts away, Jaime and Brienne's first time.





	The things I would do

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned before this episode that I would take any hint of J/B, even a fade to black or a shot of Brienne letting Jaime into her chambers. Turns out I want more. This fic is essentially 1200 words of sex and feelings.
> 
> This is also my third reaction fic for season 8 that ends with them pressed together in bed, enjoying the afterglow.

It’s the wine that gives her the courage. In a way they’ve already bared more than their bodies to each other; still, physical intimacy is new and strange to her, and she’s – unsure. 

Not of him. Not anymore. She’s unsure of herself: too masculine, too tall, too strong, too ugly, too _much_. 

But she’s drunk enough wine to be brave, the slow lassitude coursing through her veins enough to warm her blood, so that she finally puts an end to his pointless ramblings and undoes the laces of her shirt, stands before him defenceless, trusting he won’t reject her as so many others have. 

When he tangles his fingers in her hair and crushes their lips together, she almost gasps with relief. 

After the careful restraint and courtly manners of the last few days, once he finally looses the reins of his control he’s voracious, devouring her mouth, bearing her down on the furs, his weight heavy on her. She’s borne his weight before, after the Bloody Mummers had maimed him, when they’d been bound face to face for days; she’s even held him when he fainted in the baths at Harrenhal. 

But this is different. 

There’s a hunger in her, a need, and she clutches at his shoulders, dragging him down so that he’s pressed full against her, wrestling with him over the bed. For a time that’s all she knows. Their mouths and tongues meet and tangle and withdraw, their hands clutch at each other, their breath heavy between them. 

He twists and rolls her beneath him, his hand warm and calloused as he cups one of her small breasts, takes the other into his mouth. The hot, wet suction sends a bolt of sensation straight to her core, and she gasps, her hips arching involuntarily; he releases her nipple and looks up at her, his green eyes – blurred with drink – dancing wickedly. 

“Jaime,” she breathes, wary of that look. “What –”

“Shhh,” he breathes, kissing and licking and nibbling his way down her belly, making little breathless sounds of approval. He tugs at the laces of her breeches, looks up at her again in question. 

“Well?” he asks. It’s almost a challenge. 

She doesn’t take her eyes from his as she wrestles herself out of her boots and breeches and flings them to the floor. He grins as he fumbles with his in turn, stripping them off with much less grace – but then finally they’re side by side on the bed, naked. 

She’s taller than he is. Stronger. Her shoulders are just as broad. 

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She feels shy and graceless and awkward, too big, too lumbering. Jaime cuts right through her dilemma by cupping his palm against her cheek and kissing her again, kissing her and murmuring reassurances until all the shyness and uncertainty falls away, until he coaxes her down to the furs again and kisses his way back down her body to her quivering belly. 

When he coaxes her legs open and settles between her thighs, she stares down at him in confusion and disbelief. Surely he doesn’t mean to – 

He does. He puts his mouth on her, licks and sucks and kisses her as she squirms and writhes and kicks out, holding her down with one arm across her hips until the curling, coiling sensation deep in her belly _snaps_ and pleasure tears through her like a knife.

“Oh,” she breathes, when she comes back to herself, “oh, that was –”

“Hmmm?” He prowls back up the bed, a greying, magnificent lion, somewhat drunk, and kisses her with lazy ease. She can taste a mixture of wine and something earthier, muskier, on his lips. Herself, perhaps. It’s not – unpleasant. 

“Do that again,” she says. 

He looks at her. His eyes dance. He smiles. 

This time, when he puts his hand between her legs she parts her thighs willingly, lets him settle between them. He slips his fingers into the slick wetness of her – her _cunt_ – and plays with her tiny nub, and slowly, thoroughly explores her. He has sword callouses on his fingertips, and he taunts and teases her until her hips are twisting of their own volition, rising and falling with his movements. When she tangles her hands in his hair and rises up to kiss him, hungry and demanding, he nips at her mouth, a tiny, startling sting – and presses his forehead to hers, staring right into her eyes. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she says, stroking her hands down his smooth back, feeling the muscles bunch and gather as he presses his – his _cock_ – to her entrance and slowly, carefully drives into her. 

She’d always thought it might hurt, but if there’s any pain at all it’s no more than a twinge; a stretch, perhaps, or an unaccustomed fullness. She breathes in, her head falling back as he fills her; it’s – oh, it’s sweet, and she likes the feel of him in her, on her, his weight and his strength, his cock filling her with every stroke. 

This is intimacy beyond the clash of steel and the weight of him fainting in her arms, beyond unspoken words and longing gazes; she’d thought she knew the scent of him, she’d thought she was aware of him before, but now – 

Now her legs are tangled with his and her arms are wrapped around him, now she can feel his sweat-slick body move with hers, now she can taste his skin and breathe his every breath. 

Now, perhaps, she can hold him, when before he had seemed so far out of her reach. 

She tightens her legs around him, feels her body clench around him. Her fingers are tangled in his hair again, and she tugs his gaze back up to hers. 

“Jaime,” she breathes, pleasure coiling within her, just out of reach, “Jaime, please.”

He kisses her, deep and hungry and voracious, braces himself and _fucks_ her, gripping her thigh with bruising force, panting and groaning as she arches beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust, every bit as strong and powerful as he is – 

She pulls on his hair, digs her hands into his shoulders, clutches at his back, blind to everything but the sweet, hot ache deep within her, chasing that incandescent, ephemeral pleasure. 

“Brienne,” he breathes, staring into her eyes, mouth only inches from her own. 

And then he dips his head to take her breast in his mouth, and his strong, calloused fingers pinch and press against her nub, and she draws in her breath, her body arching like a bow – 

When she comes, she throws back her head and groans, her legs tightening convulsively around his waist. It’s not sweet or gentle or anything like the songs; it’s raw and earthy and overwhelming, and it rolls over her like an ocean storm. 

**

Afterwards they lie pressed together, staring at each other in something like wonder. 

“I think I understand now,” she whispers, stroking her fingers over his beard and marveling that she finally has the right to touch him as she pleases. “The things I would do for you.” 

He closes his eyes, briefly veiling his expression. “Brienne,” he says, “I’m not –”

She presses closer and kisses him, gently silencing him. “You’re a good man, Jaime,” she breathes, trying to make him believe it. “And I love you.”


End file.
